Extreme OMS

The night after Xanthe's "real mom" comment, Golda and I were sitting with her in the kitchen, talking.  We were wondering about Xanthe's birth parents and I said, somewhat teasingly, "Golda, are you envious that Xanthe has TWO mothers in her story, and you only have one?"

Golda smirked, then rubbed her forehead.  "You're a LOT of mother to take on, Mom.  I think I'm fine with just one."

I laughed so hard.  I AM a lot of mother to take on.  In fact, Golda's comment took place only moments after I had badgered Ruby and Scott out the door for guitar, reminding them not to be late, even though they were probably quite capable of getting to the lesson on time without my help.  OR maybe the world would just fall apart if I wasn't calling after everyone as I drive them out the door, "On time is late!  Early is on time!"  I guess we'll never know.  I, for one, am not about to take any chances.

Even if I'm not directly tiger-mothering the kids within an inch of their lives, I'm still doing it.  Scott is reading, Araceli is practicing in another room, and I, under the guise of relaxation, evidently have nothing better to do than mumble just loud enough to disrupt Scott's concentration.  "Aaaaaaagh!  WHY!  Is she playing F there?  IT'S F#!!  Ari, it's F#!  And I don't hear any violin.  Why isn't Freestone practicing?  Where is he?  I'm going to have to go find him.  Is Golda getting ready for ballet?  Because she cannot be late.  Is she even here?  It's time to go!"

At which point I jump up, proving Ryan's suspicion that I have extreme ADD.  But I might not.  I might just have extreme OMS.  Over-Mothering Syndrome.  But, like any other disorder, YOU try turning it off!  It doesn't just go off.  It can't be controlled.  Do we really want Araceli to go to her cello lesson playing an erroneous F#?  DO WE?!?  As I jump up off the bed, I march through the house bellowing out orders.  "Freestone, get back in there and finish your practicing or I am going to come and do the whole thing with you and Xanthe you're supposed to be reading out loud!  Louder!  Don Carlos can't hear you and he's the one you're reading out loud to, because I have to run Golda and Ruby to Nutcracker where ARE they!?  GOLDA!  RUBY!  IT'S TIME TO GO!  Ptolemy, get your pajamas on, Tziporah, get down!!  RUBY WHERE ARE YOU WE HAVE TO GO OR WE WON'T HAVE TIME TO DROP OFF THIS MUSIC! DO NOT MAKE ME LATE!!!!!

This is usually the point where some meek, terrified child will emerge from the basement, having been in a guitar lesson with Ruby, and try to escape out the front door without being accosted by The Overmother.  Few are able to dodge my orders.  Even with my "company voice," I can see that I'm terrifying the child.  "Hi Beatrice!  How was guitar?  Your case is coming unzipped.  Here, zip it up and put your coat on and remember next time to just come in so I don't have to answer the door.  See ya!  Say hi to your mom!"  The kids fairly races to her car, to the safety of a mother who probably doesn't even tell her how to close the car door properly.  And she'll probably turn out just fine, too.

But why take chances?

 Kids, if you're reading this, it's time to go do your homework.